Dog cowers to cat’s presence

Published: Sunday, May 15, 2011 at 6:01 a.m.

Last Modified: Friday, May 13, 2011 at 1:39 p.m.

There’s this blood-curdling sound a wounded animal makes, a sort of yelping, howling and crying all rolled into one spine-tingling package.

I’ve heard the noise come from a dog or two throughout the years, and each time it was made in connection with a life-ending injury.

That noise, the one I had hoped to never, ever hear again, came from the other side of my bedroom door at 2 a.m. one weeknight, rousing me from a deep sleep.

I knew instantly that it was my four-legged best friend and, even as I rushed to see what ailed him, I cringed at the thought of what I would find.

The dog had minutes earlier done his little scratch-and-whimper routine, his signal to me that he needed to go out. My spoiled cocker spaniel typically sleeps on the floor next to the bed, and we keep our bedroom door closed at night — primarily to keep our cat from wondering into places where its not allowed.

My habit is to stumble to the bedroom door, opening it about a dog’s width, and then stumble back to bed once his tail and other doggie parts are clear of danger.

I’m not needed after that since Buster can let himself out via the doggie door that leads to our backyard, which is in turn enclosed by an 8-foot privacy fence.

It’s a dance we do at least once a night, sometimes more often, and we rarely miss a step.

In the wee hours of this particular morning, however, the dance went horribly wrong.

Cue the gut-wrenching wailing.

I was already half awake, which you would assume would give me the advantage in the response department. It didn’t.

My husband, who had been in a dead sleep, leaped into action at hearing the torturous noise — no doubt the result of his finely honed firefighting skills.

My knight in shining armor simultaneously grabbed a flashlight and gun and went to vanquish whatever enemy dared attack the castle. I stayed behind to search for the wounds I was convinced were hidden somewhere under all that fur.

There was no invading Viking to be found, unless you count the feral momma cat who decided to go exploring about the same time sissy dog went for his evening constitutional.

It turns out that the back-door flap that I had long bragged freed me from having to be at the dogs’ beck and call has its drawbacks, one that my folks had long ago pointed out — it doesn’t require proof of residency from would-be visitors.

That mean old momma cat, which we had discovered living under our backyard shed with her brood just a day or two earlier, had come whisker to whisker with my pampered pooch. As near as we could determine, the meeting took place in the hallway outside our bedroom door.

The cat managed to escape my husband’s wrath with a feat of daredevil-like jumping, running and climbing that would put most Olympic athletes to shame.

He aborted the chase and returned to the bedroom, no doubt sharing my assumption the Jack-the-Ripper cat had mortally wounded our poor innocent dog.

He came to the same conclusion I did — there wasn’t a scratch or bite to be found. Our over-indulged dog had, quite simply, gotten scared.

I stared at the digital display of my alarm clock, the numbers seemingly mocking me with the reminder that I had to be at work in less than two hours.

Instead of sleeping, though, I was sitting on the floor next to my traumatized dog as my husband offered up his best pep talk.

“It’s a cat. You’re a dog,” he said, reassuringly patting the trembling mutt’s head as I hummed the “Rocky” theme song. “You’ve got this.”

I probably would have wrapped an American flag around his shoulders if I had the energy — or the flag.

The pep talks haven’t seemed to have much impact.

But we’re also locking the dog door at night, so we should be alright.

As for the cats? We’re working on a humane solution.

Want to do your part?

Spay and neuter, people.

Spay and neuter.

Dee Dee Thurston is managing editor of The Courier and Daily Comet. She can be reached at 850-1149 or deedee.thurston@ houmatoday.com.

<p>There's this blood-curdling sound a wounded animal makes, a sort of yelping, howling and crying all rolled into one spine-tingling package.</p><p>I've heard the noise come from a dog or two throughout the years, and each time it was made in connection with a life-ending injury. </p><p>That noise, the one I had hoped to never, ever hear again, came from the other side of my bedroom door at 2 a.m. one weeknight, rousing me from a deep sleep.</p><p>I knew instantly that it was my four-legged best friend and, even as I rushed to see what ailed him, I cringed at the thought of what I would find.</p><p>The dog had minutes earlier done his little scratch-and-whimper routine, his signal to me that he needed to go out. My spoiled cocker spaniel typically sleeps on the floor next to the bed, and we keep our bedroom door closed at night — primarily to keep our cat from wondering into places where its not allowed.</p><p>My habit is to stumble to the bedroom door, opening it about a dog's width, and then stumble back to bed once his tail and other doggie parts are clear of danger. </p><p>I'm not needed after that since Buster can let himself out via the doggie door that leads to our backyard, which is in turn enclosed by an 8-foot privacy fence. </p><p>It's a dance we do at least once a night, sometimes more often, and we rarely miss a step. </p><p>In the wee hours of this particular morning, however, the dance went horribly wrong.</p><p>Cue the gut-wrenching wailing.</p><p>I was already half awake, which you would assume would give me the advantage in the response department. It didn't.</p><p>My husband, who had been in a dead sleep, leaped into action at hearing the torturous noise — no doubt the result of his finely honed firefighting skills. </p><p>My knight in shining armor simultaneously grabbed a flashlight and gun and went to vanquish whatever enemy dared attack the castle. I stayed behind to search for the wounds I was convinced were hidden somewhere under all that fur.</p><p>There was no invading Viking to be found, unless you count the feral momma cat who decided to go exploring about the same time sissy dog went for his evening constitutional.</p><p>It turns out that the back-door flap that I had long bragged freed me from having to be at the dogs' beck and call has its drawbacks, one that my folks had long ago pointed out — it doesn't require proof of residency from would-be visitors.</p><p>That mean old momma cat, which we had discovered living under our backyard shed with her brood just a day or two earlier, had come whisker to whisker with my pampered pooch. As near as we could determine, the meeting took place in the hallway outside our bedroom door.</p><p>The cat managed to escape my husband's wrath with a feat of daredevil-like jumping, running and climbing that would put most Olympic athletes to shame.</p><p>He aborted the chase and returned to the bedroom, no doubt sharing my assumption the Jack-the-Ripper cat had mortally wounded our poor innocent dog.</p><p>He came to the same conclusion I did — there wasn't a scratch or bite to be found. Our over-indulged dog had, quite simply, gotten scared.</p><p>I stared at the digital display of my alarm clock, the numbers seemingly mocking me with the reminder that I had to be at work in less than two hours.</p><p>Instead of sleeping, though, I was sitting on the floor next to my traumatized dog as my husband offered up his best pep talk.</p><p>“It's a cat. You're a dog,” he said, reassuringly patting the trembling mutt's head as I hummed the “Rocky” theme song. “You've got this.” </p><p>I probably would have wrapped an American flag around his shoulders if I had the energy — or the flag.</p><p>The pep talks haven't seemed to have much impact.</p><p>But we're also locking the dog door at night, so we should be alright.</p><p>As for the cats? We're working on a humane solution. </p><p>Want to do your part?</p><p>Spay and neuter, people.</p><p>Spay and neuter.</p><p>Dee Dee Thurston is managing editor of The Courier and Daily Comet. She can be reached at 850-1149 or deedee.thurston@ houmatoday.com.</p>